


Something good can work

by choir



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 19:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17648444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choir/pseuds/choir
Summary: “Do you want to date, Akaashi?”The serve that Keiji is about to hit curves and hits Konoha in the back of the head.





	Something good can work

**Author's Note:**

  * For [painpackerrisingsun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/painpackerrisingsun/gifts).



> This fic is dedicated to and inspired by my lovely friend Ginny, who made a bokuaka comic that absolutely destroyed me: [[here]](https://twitter.com/painpackerrs/status/1091497898716655616).

“Hey, hey, Akaashi!”

Keiji is playing a three-on-three with Konoha and other first years when Bokuto bursts through the gym doors, presumably late. He resists an eyeroll; Bokuto has been unusually secretive lately, escaping rooms before Keiji enters, avoiding eye contact and trying to get others to stay late to practice spikes with him. Keiji knows Bokuto’s ups and downs like the back of his hand, but his behavior lately is entirely new to him.

“Do you want to date, Akaashi?”

The serve that Keiji is about to hit curves and hits Konoha in the back of the head.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“ _Me?_ ” is the only thing Keiji can think to say.

“What kinda question is that? Of course _you_!” Bokuto huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

Konoha bursts out laughing as the rest of the first years stare. Keiji flings a spare volleyball at him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes, Bokuto manages to say things that catch Keiji completely off-guard. He tries to prepare for them, but he’s rarely able to understand all the things that go on in his head.

For example—dating.

Keiji leans against the wall of the gym, counting his blessings and wondering if staring for long enough at a bright light will relieve him of his suffering. Bokuto is yelling in the background as the third years tease him for bringing it up so casually. The noise forms a headache at the back of his skull, further challenging his will to continue living.

He lists off in his head the hours of the day he spends with Bokuto—

  1. At some point, Bokuto starts walking him to school. He’s outside his house in a timely manner every morning, carrying an extra juice box. Keiji sometimes brings him any leftover miso and rice.
  2. During breaks, Bokuto will come down and invade his classroom, filling it with laughter. His classmates know him by name, having long since dropped the - _san_.
  3. At first, all the regulars eat lunch together on the rooftop at Bokuto’s insistence. One by one they all leave, and it’s now only Bokuto and him. At some point, Keiji starts napping on Bokuto’s lap after they eat. Bokuto hums a soft lullaby to put him to sleep, gently carding his fingers through Keiji’s hair.
  4. Keiji will find Bokuto immediately before practice to discuss strategy.
  5. They stay late every day.
  6. Bokuto walks him home without fail afterwards.



Keiji feels heat crawl onto his cheeks, and he’s grateful he’s facing away from the rest of the team. His heart tells him what his mind wants to ignore: they’re basically dating already. He doubts much would change even if he gives in to Bokuto’s strange whims.

And: there are other times, when they’re together, where Keiji’s chest feels so tight it’s painful and he imagines Bokuto’s hands on him, pressing them closer and closer together until Keiji is kissing him and they’re gasping together—

“Stop,” Keiji hisses, mostly to himself.

His brain is a traitor.

Another ball flies his way. It hits the wall a foot from where he’s standing, and he jumps, turning around.

All of his teammates are staring at him, including Bokuto, whose chest is heaving from what Keiji thinks is frustration. Keiji wishes that a black hole would open and swallow him whole. Something about Bokuto’s gaze is heavier than usual, pupils blown wide and honed in on Keiji’s every move.

The coach coughs, awkwardly, and practice begins again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bokuto still walks him home after practice. He’s sulking, apparent in the way he walks slightly ahead of Keiji, back hunched over. When they stop for snacks at a convenience store, Keiji catches Bokuto stealing glances at him. True to his stubbornness, Bokuto huffs and sighs but refuses to say a word.

By the time they reach Keiji’s house, the quiet that Keiji thought he would appreciate becomes overbearingly awkward. Silence presses in on him, unusual and strange; Keiji realizes that he _wants_ Bokuto to continue their usual banter, having grown accustomed to Bokuto’s strange rants and interests. The thought feels like a slap to the face.

Bokuto fidgets at the gate, forgoing his usual goodbyes, and Keiji is almost bowled over by the desperate desire to reach out and do…something. He isn’t sure what.

“So—” they both start at the same time.

Keiji pauses. Bokuto laughs, sheepish. He looks shy, an expression Keiji has never seen on Bokuto’s face before.

“Go ahead,” Keiji says, but his voice is barely above a whisper.

“I wasn’t joking,” he says. “About earlier.”

Keiji feels the world fall out from under him. Blood rushes to his face and his heart takes off before he can stop it. He tries to breathe, but his throat feels constricted.

“It’s okay if you don’t—”

Keiji’s mouth opens before he can stop himself. He doesn’t have many moments where he speaks before he thinks, but Bokuto is involved in almost all of them.

“Okay.”

“What?”

“I’ll date you.”

“Oh.”

A few seconds pass before Bokuto breaks out into a wide grin. It’s different than when they win: instead, Bokuto’s eyes are soft around the edges, and there’s a slight flush that spreads across his cheeks from ear to ear. Keiji feels helpless under Bokuto’s gaze, frozen in place with his pulse firing off in his wrists, neck, heart—

“So, K….” Bokuto opens his mouth, forming his mouth around something, before he stops, the blush on his face turning a deeper red. “K … Keiji.”

Ah. He is _so_ fucked.

“Does this mean we can... kiss?”

Keiji opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. He can feel his brain beginning to short circuit; before it gets any worse, he coughs, throwing rationality out the window.

“Yes, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto gives him another small, embarrassed smile. He steps closer.

Keiji breathes in deep, feeling his eyes widen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The team is curious, but after a few timely placed glares, they don’t bring it up at practice the next day. For all intents and purposes, nothing between them changes: Keiji still spends every hour of his day with Bokuto, or at practice. There is one change, though.

He thinks he might be addicted to kissing.

He doesn’t know what proper kissing is; with Bokuto it’s wet and messy and too much teeth, but also it’s the perfect time for Keiji’s mind to quietly remind him how Bokuto is actually much bigger than him. The span of his back overtakes Keiji when he presses him against a wall in the locker room, in the hallway on the way to the rooftop, against the back of the gym. Keiji shivers and falls apart in Bokuto’s arms every time, clinging to him like a lifeline.

They haven’t been caught, yet. Keiji barely manages to stay lucid enough to watch for people walking by.

This time, he isn’t sure who shoves who against the lockers, but Keiji has felt like an exposed wire all day, watching the muscles in Bokuto’s arms move when he goes in for a spike. And Bokuto keeps _touching_ him, light, feather touches on his shoulders or arms when he passes by, like an electric jolt each time. Keiji is not an idiot, and he knows: Bokuto has figured out a weakness he didn’t even realize for himself.

Bokuto’s hands press incessantly into his back, and Keiji briefly wonders if he’s going to explode, like a star gone supernova. Bokuto’s tongue shoves down his throat; Keiji lets out some noise between a gasp and moan. That’s … something. It’s new.

“Bokuto- _s … an_ ,” Keiji rips his head away from Bokuto’s, trying to keep his vision from blurring when Bokuto leans back in, chasing his mouth.

“One more?” Bokuto murmurs, and the raspiness in his voice sends shivers down Keiji’s spine.

Keiji curses his weak heart. He nods, letting his eyes wander to stare at the Bokuto’s swollen, red lips, at the way they part, just slightly.

It ends up much more than just one.

Someone opens the locker room door; they jump apart, breathing heavily. Keiji opens his locker to regain some semblance of normalcy. He hears Bokuto pretending to shuffle items in his bag.

It turns out to be the janitor. He tells them to go home, for the second time that week.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Keiji laughs about it later; Bokuto looks mortified for the rest of the evening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“So, Akaashi-kun,” Konoha says.

Keiji already doesn’t like where this conversation is going.

“Did you end up responding to Bokuto’s oh-so-lovely confession?”

He has a shiteating grin on his face. Keiji thinks that between him, Komi, and Saru, Konoha is the hardest to deal with.

“Did you draw the short end of the stick, Konoha-san, or are you trying to win the betting pot?”

Konoha’s eye twitches in irritation. Keiji can barely keep the smug smile off his face.

“I _happen_ ,” Konoha says, “to care a great deal about how my teammates are doing.”

“Then I’m sure you’d love to know that it’s none of your business,” Keiji shrugs, but the knowledge that he has control of the conversation makes his voice a bit more gleeful than he intends.

“Bokuto!” Konoha calls.

Keiji freezes. Wait.

“YEAH?” Bokuto yells back. He’s running up for a spike set by another first year.

“Are you and Akaashi dating?”

Bokuto freezes mid-air. The ball falls and bounces on his head. Even from here, Keiji can see red beginning to bloom on his face.

“And _that_ , Akaashi-kun,” Konoha leers over him, “is why I’m winning the betting pot.”

Keiji briefly imagines serving into Konoha—on purpose, this time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Keiji tells Bokuto that they’re going to play Konoha in a three-on-three for the rest of practice. Bokuto doesn’t understand, still embarrassed from the bombardment of teasing from the other third years, but he agrees nonetheless.

They wipe the floor with him. Keiji considers it his only way he can enact just revenge.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I was thinking—” Bokuto starts.

They’re sitting on the floor of his room, studying materials spread across the carpet. Keiji stops being able to pay attention after five minutes of attempting to solve complex derivatives, watching how Bokuto chews on the edge of his pencil, the dents it leaves in his lips. He vows to blame Bokuto if he fails his upcoming test.

Likewise, Bokuto doesn’t comment when Keiji locks the door on their way in.

“—are we dating…right?”

_Huh?_

“You mean…correctly?”

“Yeah.”

The confusion in Bokuto’s voice catches Keiji off-guard. Understanding whether or not a particular relationship is “normal” isn’t exactly Keiji’s forte. Nothing about his relationship with Bokuto has ever been simple or easy to understand.

“I don’t think that worrying about our normalcy will change our relationship, Bokuto,” Keiji says, not quite able to mask the uncertainty on his face.

“I mean…we don’t go on dates, or anything! The only thing that’s changed is that we make out a lot, now!”

Bokuto says it so bluntly that Keiji can feel the tips of his ears go red.

“Bokuto-san.” Keiji moves his notebook to the floor, and rests his head on his hands. “Why did you ask me to date you?”

“Well…” Bokuto at least has the capacity to look bashful. “I thought that dating sounded like a lot of fun. But I thought that—well, I thought that if I dated anyone else, it’d be cheating, because you’re my favorite person!”

Keiji loses a grip on the air in his lungs; it feels as though it’s been punched out of his chest. A strange mixture of fondness and irritation swirls in his stomach; it only occurs to him now who would place that thought in Bokuto’s head—

“So, Saru said that I should just date you!”

The death wish Keiji is about to place on Konoha pauses mid-thought.

“ _Sarukui-san?_ ”

“Yeah.”

“And here I thought Konoha-san was the troublesome one,” Keiji groans.

“Hey, hey, Keiji, what do you mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me!” Bokuto is leaning over their homework, now, and Keiji briefly mourns any paper that gets crushed underneath Bokuto’s knees.

“Should we go on a date?” Keiji offers, trying to change the subject.

 _That_ gets Bokuto’s attention, again. He sits back on his heels, biting his bottom lip and looking pensive. Keiji breathes out a sigh of relief; he makes a pact with himself that he will never, ever let Sarukui know that he is grateful. Even if the third years are able to read right through him, it doesn’t mean they actually need the confirmation that everything they tease him about is true.

“Like…the movies? Or dinner? Or taking a boat out on a lake?”

Keiji bites back a laugh. The idea of Bokuto sitting through any of those activities feels like asking a child to sit still.

“What about beach volleyball?” Keiji offers.

Bokuto’s face lights up immediately.

 

 

 

 

 

 

At lunch the next day, Bokuto kisses Keiji on the rooftop, soft and slow, sucking the air out of Keiji as though he’s born to do so. When they part, Keiji feels dizzy, and his eyes cross in an attempt to keep Bokuto in focus. Someday, Bokuto is going to give him a heart attack; his pulse is loud in his ears.

“That’s for the great date idea.” Bokuto barely pulls back from Keiji’s face as he says it.

Keiji can feel every word brush against his lips, and the resulting smile there. Some part of Keiji realizes: he’s in way too far over his head.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Beach!” Bokuto yells when he answers the door.

In the background, Keiji watches as Bokuto makes himself into a tornado, tripping over furniture and stuffing towels in an overly large duffle. He spots pails and small shovels buried beneath all the other unnecessary items; leave it to Bokuto to expect them to have time for building a sandcastle after he runs them into the ground with hours of volleyball.

Bokuto’s mom watches them in amusement. Keiji knows she’s figured out their relationship, by now, but what matters is she respects Bokuto to tell her first before asking about it any further. She has the same big, loving heart that Bokuto has, and Keiji is only too happy to see it runs in the family.

“Mom—where’s the—where’s the spare volleyball?”

“In the closet.”

Bokuto dashes down the hall.

“He’s never ready on time, is he.” Keiji sighs, taking off his shoes and resigning to the defeat of having to spend another thirty minutes sitting around.

“No,” she says, “but he was very excited for today. Something about a date?”

Keiji swallows, throat dry. She’s staring at him with an amused glint in her eye. Keiji takes back any similarities between her and Bokuto he had previously considered.

“Something like that.” Keiji resigns to his fate, knowing when he’s been outmatched.

Bokuto rushes back with more things tucked under his arm, and he barrels Keiji into a hug, squeezing him in a way that’s too enthusiastic for just teammates. Keiji shivers when he feels Bokuto’s hands lightly run down his spine. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Bokuto’s mom raise an eyebrow.

They end up late to their train, and Keiji adds Bokuto’s mom to the list of people who can see right past him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Keiji’s shoulders prickle with the telltale sign of a sunburn. In front of him, Bokuto is all golden, sweat and water pooling from his face and catching in the grooves of his collarbone. Keiji watches as Bokuto runs down to the water when he begins to overheat, barreling through the sea before rejoining the game; he fights the waves and loses every time, smacking against the sand with breathless laughter.

They win all their matches against the players on the beach that day in simple two-vs-two’s. Watching Bokuto jump is just as impressive in sand as it is on a court, and he draws in a crowd that cheers at every spike and yell. Not so different from their day to day, really.

_Toss it here, Akaashi!_

Keiji knows he should tell him that they’re the only ones playing together, so _of course_ it’ll be tossed to him, but something about the fixation Bokuto gets when he calls for a toss keeps Keiji’s mouth firmly shut. He blames it on fatigue; Bokuto keeps them playing for hours on end, until the beach begins to filter out and the sun lies low on the horizon.

They inhale watermelon and pre-packed sandwiches that Bokuto makes, and Keiji leans against Bokuto’s shoulder. Bokuto talks about their matches, which ones were his favorites, the players that resembled Nekoma’s damn receives, the tricky ones that stole points from them. The heat makes Keiji feel sleepy, and he closes his eyes, hearing only the waves in the background and Bokuto’s voice in his ears.

“—Keiji?”

“Mm?” he doesn’t open his eyes, not yet.

“Thanks for today.”

“You’re welcome. You did most of the jumping, though.”

Bokuto laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that rakes through Keiji’s body. A cool breeze pushes off the ocean; goosebumps raise on Keiji’s arms. At some point, through all the noise and ruckus that Bokuto causes, he became a source of calm for Keiji, quieting the excessive noise in his head.

“We should head back,” Keiji mutters. He doesn’t want to; he’s comfortable even through the sunburn on his back that pulses in time with his heartbeat.

“Just a little longer, then.”

Keiji opens his eyes, staring up at Bokuto’s face. Their gaze meets halfway. Bokuto’s cheeks are red from the sun and his hair is still plastered to his face, leaning over to one side in triumph over the usual gel. Keiji feels affection bubble up in his heart, so overwhelming it hurts.

“You know I like you, right?” Keiji whispers. It just seems like the right thing to say.

Bokuto bites his lip, but a smile stretches across his face regardless.

“You aren’t _that_ sly, Keiji! I knew that already!”

Keiji laughs, despite himself. Sometimes he forgets how perceptive Bokuto can be.

“I like you too, though. A lot.” Bokuto sounds sheepish. Keiji savors the sound, lets it fill him through his toes.

They sit on the beach till the sun sets. Bokuto falls asleep on his shoulder on the train ride home, and it hurts, skin sensitive from the burn, but Keiji doesn’t dare move.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Keiji can barely move by the time they get back to his place; a shower sounds heavenly to rinse off the sand and salt on his skin, but the most they can do is collapse onto Keiji’s bed, ignoring the futon Keiji had set up for Bokuto before he left.

“Shower,” Keiji grumbles. He kicks at Bokuto, who’s already halfway asleep, drooling all over his bedsheets.

“Too tired,” Bokuto mumbles, voice barely audible. His face is smushed into the blankets.

“We’re going to fall asleep in sand.”

Bokuto doesn’t move.

“ _Bokuto-san_.”

“Fine,” Bokuto moans, pushing himself off the bed.

He’s sulking. It’s really cute. Keiji bites the inside of his cheek; Bokuto’s pout is barely visible in the dark of his room, and shadows cast lines across his expression. It doesn’t lift until Keiji pushes him down the hallway and into the warmth of the water, watching his shoulders shudder and relax.

Keiji steps onto the tile after him, watching Bokuto’s tired eyes zero in and focus on him; he feels like prey being hunted under that gaze. A shiver runs down his spine as Bokuto takes a step closer to him, feeling self-conscious in a way he never has before. Bokuto’s hand wraps around the back of his neck, pushing them closer together. Keiji’s breath hitches when their lips touch. It’s a soft kiss, one full of exhaustion after a day in the sun, but Keiji can’t help how his body warms at how gently Bokuto coaxes him into it.

There’s sand pooling into the drain and Keiji knows that he’ll have to clean it up tomorrow. Meanwhile, he cards his fingers through Bokuto’s hair, shaking out the dirt and salt water, letting it turn soft in his grip. Bokuto’s hair is so different from his: fine and soft despite the bleach and pounds of product.

Bokuto pulls back, breathing against Keiji’s mouth. He’s smiling and looks calm, a rare sight for him.

“You’re not even washing the sand off,” Keiji scolds, but there’s no actual venom in his voice.

“You can do it for me!” Bokuto leans forward, his grin turning a bit more smug.

Keiji flicks water into Bokuto’s eyes. He lets out a whine, and Keiji has to hold back laughter. Despite himself, he still pours soap into his hand, rubbing it across Bokuto’s shoulders. Under his fingers, the skin has already started to peel.

“The sunburn,” Keiji mumbles, “does it hurt?”

“A little—” Bokuto hisses.

“Remind me to put aloe on it tomorrow.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bokuto’s mouth is on his neck, and Keiji is caught between immediately wanting to fall asleep or moan. He’s squirming, Bokuto nursing spots he never knew were sensitive; Keiji has to fight to keep his mouth shut. Bokuto has already been privy enough to sounds he didn’t even know he could make.

“Today was great,” Bokuto mumbles between kisses. “You’re great—the best boyfriend ever—”

Keiji just wishes Bokuto would make up his mind about whether he wants to talk or kill him. Currently, it’s a nice combination of both.

“I like you so much,” Bokuto sighs.

When Keiji opens his eyes, he sees the outline of Bokuto hovering over him. His stomach does somersaults; he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the intensity of Bokuto’s gaze. Instinctively, he reaches his hand out, brushing it along Bokuto’s cheek. Bokuto leans into the touch.

“I’m the luckiest guy alive,” Bokuto continues, and Keiji’s nerves feel like they are on fire.

Keiji doesn’t know what to say; the depths of his feelings for Bokuto feel out of reach, too terrifying to quantify. But this, he thinks, is enough: Bokuto staring at him like they’re the only two people in the world, sweat beginning to form at the back of his knees from the summer heat, the dark sanctuary of his room giving them a moment of silence they never had before Bokuto’s strange, botched confession.

He smiles back at Bokuto.

“Me too,” Keiji says, and any other day the honesty in his voice would terrify him.

Bokuto turns pink. Keiji kisses the blush off his face.

 

 

 

 

 

Keiji thanks Sarukui, at some point.

Sarukui looks at him, smiles once, and waves him off.

 


End file.
